Weeping Willows
by anna16
Summary: Rest often comes in unimaginable ways. Post-Telling.
1. Default Chapter

Weeping Willows  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, never will be. I am not making a dime off this. They all belong to J.J., ABC, Touchstone, and Bad Robot.  
  
Summary: Rest comes in ways we never imagined. Inspiration came from a song by Brad Paisley.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
I walk through this place of rest, the place of death and rebirth. It is a world of darkness and light. The somber notes that float through the wind, past the coldness of the marble, and settles under the tree mark the place where life began and ended so tragically.  
  
It was a year and a half ago, that she appeared in our lives once again. Out of nowhere, or out of his dreams, she came crashing back into this world. She had been missing for two years, but for her it was one night; one night away from him, away from Santa Barbara. In those two years, he had married someone else, but I don't think he ever really moved on. The guilt that seeped into his heart, his soul after he found out she was alive almost finished him right at that very second. However, Michael Vaughn had always been committed to Sydney Bristow. Even though his "love" was promised to someone else, his heart had always remained hers. We never knew exactly what Michael said to her in that safe house. When they returned, he looked battered, and she looked defeated. I always imagined that having to tell her that he was married, was the hardest thing that he had to do, more so than having to deal with her death.  
  
She never asked anything from him that I can tell. She simply drifted away. She was distant and short tempered. She became dangerous, taking on the suicide missions. Michael spoke to her on more than one occasion, about her taking liberties with her life. He never told me the exact words that were used, or the conversation in its entirety. He was just always so troubled after these meetings. She kept pushing the envelope. I believe she was hoping for death. She was doing everything in her will power to meet it head on. When she couldn't get relief from anything else, that is when she took matters into her own hands. We knew for some time that Sydney had begun drinking, and heavily. There were interventions and she was suspended. She always came back, repeating the same patterns, until one day, Dixon told her to go home and not come back. She didn't.  
  
We found her two days later, face down in her pillow. A bottle of whiskey laying beside her, laying next to the gun, and she was holding a note in her hand, that simply read, "I'll love him to the day I die." The moment I walked into her apartment, I felt it. It was cold, relentless in its sadness and mirth. There was nothing on the walls, everything cold, black, and without forgiveness. It was a studio apartment, decorated with only her death bed, and picture frame that sat beside it. His picture was the only thing in that room that gave it life. I thought I had seen grief before, but when he walked into that room, I was wrong. The sounds that came from his throat, where mere whispers from the pain that resided in his soul. He wept openly, and shouted to whatever God would listen. He yelled at her, grabbing her before we could reach him, and willing her to return. His acclamations of love did nothing to bring her back. I was blown away by that scene, it still seems so real to me now, his screaming becoming so violent, that his throat spewed the same life force that covered his clothes. Their blood mingled together, dark intertwining with light, but becoming one.  
  
They had to restrain him. He wouldn't let her go. He was like a man possessed. It took five agents to pry his hands from her lifeless body. He kept saying that he had to wait, that she was coming back. The whole time, I stood there, finally bracing myself with the doorframe, withered and broken by the loss this man felt. It still lives with me. It haunts me. He didn't go to the funeral, because he was sedated and in the hospital. I thought the fact that he didn't attend would be the best thing for him, I was wrong. I am not sure that anything would ever be right for him again after that. Every night we made the same walk through this cemetery, right at this place under the willow. However, one of us was always unaware of the other. He never knew I was there. The way he spoke to her, you would have thought that it was his wife that had died. He whispered his love for her, his longing for her return. He needed her. He told her as much. The tears he spent on her every night dripping with his blood and his soul. My eyes often fought the tears, seeing him in that much pain. I had always wanted to experience a love like theirs. Now I wasn't so sure.  
  
The last night he ever went to see her, as I stood watching over him, I noticed something about him was different. He spent several minutes talking to her, in hushed tones, words meant only for her, and then he smiled. I swear I hadn't seen Michael Vaughn smile in months. It was a full-on, dimple smile, and I prayed to God right then and there, thanking Him for finally relieving his pain. He left with a purpose, almost like he had said his goodbyes, knowing he wouldn't return. On my way home that night, I finally released the breath I had been holding for four months. And that is when I realized it. It had been four months to the day. The relief I felt suddenly turned into worry, causing me to turn the car around. No amount of prayer or the fact that I was driving with abandon could get me there quick enough. I used the key and walked through the door. It was too quiet, no flicker of the TV, no shower running, nothing but silence. The tears began to threaten, and soon they spilled over, cascading down my cheeks as I opened the door to the bedroom. The scene was exactly the same. I found him that night, face down in his pillow, a bottle of whiskey by his side, next to the gun. There was a picture in his hand, a picture of her. He was clutching it for dear life. I almost knew that it would end this way. He had blamed himself for her pain. As I stood there, I finally knew what Michael had felt finding her that way. It's not everyday, you find the love of your life like that. The difference is, she was the love of his life.and he was the love of my life.  
  
As I stand here underneath the willow, I feel like he is finally at peace. I buried him beside her. That is the way he wanted it. A lot of people can't understand my decision, but when you love someone, it is not what you want that's important. They share a tombstone, because in my mind, they were married long before we were. God, help them, I hope they both have peace finally. They are finally together for good. I walk away, finally realizing why people refer to those trees as Weeping Willows. 


	2. Authors Note

Thank you so much!!!  
  
Thanks for the reviews, for the kind words. I was so nervous about this story because I didn't want to do an injustice to Sydney and Vaughn's characters. However, I feel that they have that kind of love that people want or wish they had. It is tragic, and yet beautiful at the same time. IT is all encompassing.  
  
Thanks to all of you.  
  
MyAlias - Thank you so much for the kind words. I really wanted to show how Sydney finally came to a point where she couldn't take anymore. She had lost everything, and losing Vaughn was her last stop. Thanks again.  
  
Leo's l'il sista - I will get over and review your story as soon as I can. Thank you so much for reviewing mine. I really appreciate it. Also, this is a standalone.  
  
Snosamie6 - The words you said mean so much to me. I really appreciate it more than I could say. I am always so nervous when it comes to writing.  
  
ProvidenceSea - I had some ideas, but I decided to leave it as a standalone. I was afraid that adding to it, might take away from it. I just didn't want to tamper with it. Thanks so much for your encouragement though. I am so thankful.  
  
Worldruler - Thanks for the comment about the POV. I worked really hard on that one. I thought it was a nice twist. I am really glad it worked. Thank you so much for your nice comments.  
  
Dream Writer 4 Life - You don't know how much it means to me that you read and reviewed my story. It means so much, coming from you. The fact that you liked it, means even more. Again, thank you so much. 


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